The Best of You and Me
by Rhapsody In Rouge
Summary: In a timeline where Sburb was never released to plunge our characters into a game that governs the fate of multiple universes, one night is shared. A small oneshot involving Rose and Dave. If you enjoyed, please spread the love. If you didn't enjoy, let me know why.


You know something's amiss when he offers to take you out for dinner; something that, shockingly enough, isn't pizza or Chinese, both well-loved within the diet of a Strider. You attempt to pry the truth out of him with several subtle prodding techniques but he doesn't budge, only growing more agitated the more you push the issue. With an inward sigh, you figure whatever he's up to must be something worth looking forward to, so you try to contain your curiosity.  
This does not last long, and no sooner than the two of you arrive at an expensive and suspicious-looking restaurant do you ask him again, only to get the cold shoulder.  
That was odd enough.  
He feigns his usual casual demeanour, incredibly nonchalant as he confirms the reservations and is shown to the table you would share. But beneath the surface, you can see that he is tense and jittery, trying just a little too hard to preserve the look of absolute calm. Still, you say nothing else on the subject and allow nature to take its course, albeit watching like a hawk for the moment he slips up.  
You make it a point to order the most expensive thing on the menu, enjoying the twitch of irritation he shows before graciously saying that it's his treat. Oh, this would be fun.  
One premium lobster tail and bottle of Cristol later, he's ruefully checking his pockets to ensure he's able to pay for your meal, and you're smirking over your glass.  
"Nice of you to run me for all I've got," he complains.  
"Do you want a bite?" you ask, innocent as could be.  
"No, but listen, I didn't exactly bring you here for shits and giggles, or 'cause I had money to blow, either." As if that wasn't obvious enough. It was hard being the heir to a porn empire, after all. It was hard and you did your best to understand.  
"Oh?" you say carefully, taking another small sip of your wine.  
"Yeah, like you didn't guess. So, uh." He scratches at the back of his head, falling into silence, and you can practically see the cogs working furiously beneath his skull. Look at that, he hasn't been this nervous in a long time. Now your interest is definitely piqued.  
Unfortunately, though, your own mind tends to get ahead of you in situations like this, and in the time that he remains uncharacteristically quiet, you are already piecing together his motives. What reason could he possibly have for bringing you here? While your relationship wasn't exactly lacking, Dave wasn't one for the conventional sort of romance. So why all this extra fanfare? Unless it was some sort of apology, but what did he have to atone for? Unless.  
The realisation hits you like cold water, and you silently curse yourself for not figuring it out sooner. How much more obvious could he have made it?  
Your shoulders square as you set your wine glass down with the utmost care. "I think I know what this is about. In fact, I'm sure of it," you murmur, so soft he may not even hear you.  
He looks startled, even behind the protective shield of his aviators. "You do?" he presses, and you nod. "Oh, thank God. I mean, I know you're sharp as a tack and all that, but hell… I guess I wanted it to feel unexpected."  
Oh, it was unexpected, alright.  
"You and I, we've had a good thing going for some time, don't you agree?" Your smile is tight as it accompanies the question.  
"Hell yeah. It's been pretty great, Lalonde. You're pretty much one of the only people willing to put up with my bullshit, and I'm the only dude this side of the fucking planet who can go toe to toe with you. People say you're a snarky broad spewing horseshit- well, uh guess I'm one of those people. Whoops. But, ah, anyway, what I'm trying to say is-"  
"Dave, hush," you interject patiently. "There's no need to hurt yourself. I know what you want to say." It hurts to speak the words, but if it isn't you that makes a clean break, he'll only make a mess of it. "You wish to sow your wild oats, find greener pastures, some other such agriculturally-inclined metaphor. It's not me, it's you. You just need a little space. You hope we can still be friends."  
The look on his face is aghast as he sputters what you can only assume to be the equivalent of "What?" It takes him a moment of struggling before he finally gains coherence. "Rose, is that honestly what you thought I was going for?"  
Your expression can only be described as perplexed. "You mean that wasn't what you were trying to say?"  
He lets out a laugh that has an edge to it. "Jesus Christ, Lalonde, no. Holy fuck, and I thought you had it figured out for a second, then you spring this shit on me? Fuckin' incredible levels of 'no' in here."  
Suddenly, you feel as if you need another bottle of wine. You're about ready to flag down the waiter before he speaks once again.  
"Okay, since I'm obviously gonna have to spell this out for you, I guess there's no use in this little thing called subtlety around you."  
He stands from his chair and walks over to where you sit, frozen with confusion and more than a healthy dose of fear at what you finally suspect is happening. This develops into full-on panic as he bends down onto one knee.  
"Okay," he repeats. "Here we go. Moment of truth. Fuck yes. You can do this, Strider, ol' buddy ol' pal." His covered eyes dart back to your face, now clearer to see when he was this close. "Oh, wait, hang on." With practised ease, he whips off his signature shades and sets them onto the table beside him. His bright red gaze is on you now, and any protests you might have had were locked in your throat.  
"Rose." He says your name like a prayer, and he seems less like an immature dweeb and more like the man you knew he'd grow up to be. "I've known you since you were toting Baby's First Psychology Clipboard, and we've basically grown up together. 2 years, 4 months, and 19 days ago, I asked you to be my girlfriend… not that anybody's counting or anything."  
People are staring now, patrons of the restaurant all curious to witness what was going on. He seems to be making an effort to ignore them, Adam's Apple bobbing with the next words he was managing to get out.  
"Could I ask you to lower your incredibly high standards for once, and agree to be my wife?"  
His question hangs heavy in the air, and you can practically hear the amount of people holding their collective breath right now. As it happens, you too had apparently forgotten the need for oxygen. All eyes were on you, waiting for an answer, none whom you gave the slightest of fucks about except the imploring ruby ones staring up at you.  
You inhale shakily, and the words come tumbling out before you have a chance to stop them. "What choice do I have but to accept?"  
The room erupts into applause as he immediately gets to his feet, pulling you so close it's nearly crushing and placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, just as he did the night he confessed his feelings to you. The same answer, the same almost-shy kiss, and the same sense of euphoria that came with realising that you'd just been drawn ever-further into the increasingly complex life of a certain Dave Strider.  
Somehow, you found that this turn of events was perfection itself.


End file.
